All of Me
by Golem XIV
Summary: AU. When Steve Dayton's adopted son falls ill with a terminal disease, there is only one person that has any chance of saving him.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** This story takes both its title and its inspiration from the 1984 RomCom _All of Me_ with Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin. If you've seen it, you'll know more or less what to expect, but it shouldn't spoil it too much. If you haven't seen it, maybe you should!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't even own the bed that I sleep in, let alone the Teen Titans.

-=oOo=-

The wall that separated the estate from the side road that ran alongside it unrolled endlessly.

 _How much space does a man need to live?_ Rachel grumbled pointlessly to herself while she drove down the narrow side path, searching for the gate.

She glanced at the GPS on her dash, but it offered no help. The estate was private property and its owner made sure it was represented on the map only as a large and roughly rectangular grey emptiness.

 _The sixth-richest man in the world. No wonder he lives with his family on an estate the size of a smallish European country._ Again she frowned as she thought about it. Unnecessary opulence irritated her, but a life was in the balance here. A life that apparently not even Dayton's billions could save.

She forced her face to clear and her annoyance to cool. She was here to heal and to try to accomplish what neither modern medicine nor alternative quackery could do. For that she needed to be calm and relaxed. Steve Dayton's lifestyle, as much as it rubbed her the wrong way, was none of her business.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. She was fifteen minutes early, but unless the damn gate appeared on the horizon soon, she would be late. As fashionable as it was for _them,_ rich people did not appreciate _others_ being late. She frowned again, her full lips compressing into a thin, hard line as she dismissed the thought. Too bad. Dayton should've given her the warning ahead of time.

At last the entrance hove into view. She slowed down and turned onto the access path, towards the wrought-iron gate flanked by two tall posts overgrown with ivy and lichen. The never-ending wall extended away from either side until it was lost in the perspective.

A modern-looking, glass-and-plastic guard shack was located to the left, incongruous against the backdrop of the towering gate. An apparently bored guard sauntered out, but there was nothing boring about the sight of his hand on the holster of his handgun. She lifted an eyebrow. Either Dayton was paranoid or the world of high finance was indeed a jungle. She powered the window down and smiled at the guard.

"Rachel Roth," she introduced herself. "I have an appointment with Mr. Dayton."

The guard studied her, his face expressionless and his eyes hidden behind reflective sunglasses.

"I'll need to see a picture ID," he drawled finally, his hand never leaving the holster. The implied threat made her more angry than afraid. Her eyes narrowed.

"No, you don't," she replied coldly. "I sent Mr. Dayton my picture and the license plate of my car. Both are probably displayed on the monitor inside your shack."

The guard's mouth twitched a little. "Can't let you in without seein' one, ma'am!"

"Yes, you can!" she snapped, losing her patience. "Or if you prefer, you can chase me away and explain your action later to Mr. Dayton when his son dies."

The mouth twitched again. Rachel made a show of shrugging and shifting into reverse, turning to look back over her shoulder, as if she was getting ready to back away and leave. The guard turned around and stepped over to the shack, his arm going through the opening in the counter window to punch the button that opened the gate. It swung inwards slowly and silently.

"Go ahead!" he growled and retreated back inside.

Still fuming even after her small victory, she pushed the stick into drive and advanced through the gate. She glanced in the mirror, but the guard was nowhere to be seen. He was probably on the phone, letting the other security guards know that she had entered the premises.

She chuckled, wondering if they had to pay roaming charges. The estate was certainly large enough. She studied the fuel gauge with some concern. _I hope there's a gas station half-way to the manor_.

Her thoughts drifted back to the call Dayton made demanding her help. Her brow furrowed again. His demeanor was quite cold, almost dismissive, and at first she put it down to the all-too-common attitude of powerful men towards hired help. But now she realized that the failure to give her full instructions was a subtle hint, and the incident with the guard outside was definitely _un_ subtle. She sighed. It was not the first time that she ran into disbelief, rejection and ridicule.

A _faith healer_. That's what they called her. A nicer name for a con artist.

No matter that faith had nothing to do with it. No matter that she had proven over and over again that it worked. No matter the dozens – _hundreds_ of patients that she had already cured and that recovered completely, able now to lead normal, healthy lives. No matter that she demonstrated it three times in front of doctors and scientists and under controlled conditions. They couldn't figure out how it worked – and, to be fair, neither could she – therefore it meant that it was all an elaborate hoax.

It also meant that someone was making Dayton do it against his will. Most probably his wife. _Trust a woman to show common sense where men can't_ , she snickered.

She knew little about Rita Dayton, _neé_ Farr, except her name. She kept herself and the rest of her family successfully hidden from the prying eyes of the media. So successfully, in fact, that Rachel didn't even know they had a son, let alone his name.

The road she followed curved around a small hill. As she navigated it she received the first impression of her ultimate goal.

 _Holy… Wow._

She forced her attention back on the road. The sheer size of the manor was intimidating, and it was probably done on purpose. To be sure, the 'oooh' factor was not targeted at her or any other insignificant worker ant; it was Dayton's business partners that had to be impressed, overwhelmed and awed. And the freaking place delivered in spades.

She shook her head slowly as she approached and turned off the access road to the parking lot in front of the entrance. Crushed white rock crunched under the tires. She chuckled. _Figures._

A large man in an impeccably tailored business suit waited for her at a portcullis-sized door. She parked, left the car and walked over to meet him. As she got closer she noticed that describing him as 'large' was wrong, an impression caused by the enormous door looming behind him. He was _huge,_ at least six feet four, and his shoulders were proportionally wide. His skin was a handsomely deep bronze, his grin was relaxed and sincere and his eyes soft and surprisingly affectionate. She couldn't avoid smiling at him.

"Miss Roth? I'm Cliff, Cliff Steele," he said in a pleasant baritone, extending a paw the size of a snow shovel. "Pleased to meet you!"

Rachel's smile widened and her own small, pale hand disappeared in the man's strong but gentle grip. "Rachel Roth. Nice to meet you too, Cliff!"

He opened the door and held it for her, taking a step back to allow her through. "I'm one of Steve's junior partners," he explained. "He and Rita are waiting for you. Please follow me."

She nodded and stepped inside. He joined her and gestured towards the grand staircase that rose from the back of the cavernous entry hall, splitting into halves that coiled elegantly as they climbed up to reach the second floor landings. She rolled her eyes in amused vexation; it was so _cliché_ that it was almost comical.

"Did you have any problems getting here?" he asked off-hand while he led her, as if trying to make small talk. But Rachel saw immediately that there was a definite undercurrent of purpose under the levity.

It couldn't have been common practice to have a junior partner wait for you at the door and receive you with pleasant chit-chat. No, the usual guest would have to knock and wait for a butler or some other servant to open and inquire about their identity and business, after, of course, an appropriately extended period of time that would allow the visitor to be thoroughly impressed with the door, the building and the estate, ramming in with a haughty absence of delicacy their obvious lack of importance when compared to the regal stature of the manor's owner.

It could mean only one of two things. Either Dayton was sending some seriously mixed-up signals, or someone else – guess who – was offering her silent apologies for her husband's behavior.

"It was easy enough," Rachel answered warmly. "I just didn't realize the place was so _big._ The gate turned out to be much farther than I expected." Steele glanced at her and both their smiles widened a little. They understood each other perfectly.

"Here we are," he said as he opened a door and again stepped back to let her pass. "Steve and Rita are inside."

She lifted an eyebrow and he smiled in response. He would remain outside; this was a personal matter. She nodded, returned his smile and stepped into the room.

-=oOo=-

"Ah, Miss Roth!" Steve Dayton grumbled with the minimum amount of courtesy possible and waved a hand at an armchair in front of the coffee table beside which he was sitting. "Please, be so kind to join us."

It didn't escape her attention that he never got up from his own armchair to welcome her, let alone extend a greeting hand. She hid a smirk; she was not one to be easily intimidated. She decided she would show Dayton that two could play that game.

Rita was a different story. She rose and approached Rachel immediately. "Thank you so much for coming," she said quietly, offering her hand in greeting. Rachel took it and shook it. "We were just having coffee. Can I tempt you with anything?"

"Just some herbal tea, if possible!" Rachel replied with a small smile as she sat down, ignoring Dayton. "How is your son? I was told the situation was urgent."

Dayton frowned. He was very keenly aware of Rachel's dismissive attitude. His behavior was, after all, calculated partly to evoke such kind of reaction so he could study her better. Hearing her mention their previous conversation as if he wasn't present in the room was, however, _irritating_. He was not a man that suffered being irritated.

"Before we get to that, I need to clear a few things!" he growled, ignoring Rita's warning glance. "I have no idea what your fee is. I have no idea of what you do, how you do it or why!" He leaned towards Rachel, his brows knitting together. "I don't trust you, girl. I have been assured –" he glanced at his wife, "– that your… _intervention…_ even if unsuccessful, won't cause any unwelcome consequences. This is the only reason I've agreed to it in the first place."

A serving maid entered and placed a tray with a cup of steaming tea and a tiny jar of honey in front of Rachel, then disappeared as swiftly and quietly as she came. Rachel busied herself scooping up a little honey and mixing it into the tea, casting a quick glance at Rita. She was glaring at her husband, but the annoyance in her eyes was tempered by a generous dose of affection. It surprised Rachel somewhat; Rita obviously _loved_ this dour man, Heavens knew why. From what Rachel could see, he had locked away and hidden any endearing traits he might have had, then buried them deep in an unmarked spot and placed minefields and barbed wire around.

She lifted the tea cup daintily and took a delicate sip. She smiled widely and turned to Rita. "By Azar, this tea is absolutely _delicious,_ Mrs. Dayton!" she complimented her hostess, watching carefully the rising flush on Steve Dayton's face out of the corner of her eye.

Rita's eyes turned to her with a spark of amusement shining inside. She knew what Rachel was doing and she was perfectly fine with it. "Thank you! But please, just call me Rita," she smiled.

"As long as you call me Rachel." Apparently Rita agreed that her husband needed to be taken down a few pegs and she was happy about the way Rachel was playing it.

Still, a life was hanging from a thread. As much as she enjoyed putting Dayton down, she should never lose sight of what brought her here in the first place. She sighed, laid the cup and saucer on the coffee table and relaxed back into her armchair.

"Mr. Dayton, you are – or at least you're rumored to be – a capable, intelligent man," she began, meeting Dayton's angry gaze with a frosty look. "Don't tell me you haven't done your research on me."

"I am still doing it," he replied coldly. His eyes were still hostile, but a small spark of respect glimmered under it all. "Let us talk about the price."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "If you did your homework, you'd know I don't have a price list!" she stated, allowing the anger slowly building in her to harden her voice. "I receive donations for my work. _If_ I am successful and _when_ your son is cured, you are free to donate as much as you feel my efforts were worth."

Dayton snorted. "I will try not to judge you by your business sense," he grumbled, pretending not to notice that Rachel's gaze went from cold to gelid. "Let's get to the important stuff. How does this mumbo-jumbo of yours work?"

 _Keep cool. Count to ten. Don't let him bait you._ Her hand went for the cup again and she sipped slowly, giving herself time to simmer down. As much as she felt the urge to throw the tea in Dayton's face, get up and leave, she knew she couldn't do it. As long as there was a chance that she could save a life, she would endure it all. Even Steve Dayton.

"I don't _know_ how the mumbo-jumbo works, Mr. Dayton. _Nobody_ does," she replied in a cool, controlled voice. "I wasted a lot of time being tested, poked and prodded and no one ever discovered anything. But everyone agrees that it _does_ work."

Rachel frowned and her gaze dropped to the tea cup as she focused on the answer. "What I can tell you is _how_ it works," she said, casting a quick glance at Rita. "I seem to be able to connect to the other person and influence their natural defenses. I can mobilize their immune system, give it guidance and purpose, show it where the priorities and needs are."

She looked up, meeting Dayton's gaze defiantly. "I have cured people with terminal cancer and Ebola fever; I've helped those with autoimmune diseases like lupus or patients in anaphylaxis. I've even cured three cases of symptomatic rabies. As long as the immune system is still working, even if it's misdirected, I have a good chance of success."

Dayton scowled. "What you're saying is well documented, but in every case I've seen many plausible alternative explanations. I'm still not convinced, and I suspect I won't ever be. And yet the situation is critical, and I'm…" he also glanced at his wife. "… _we_ are grasping at straws."

"You did mention it was urgent, and that the patient is your son," Rachel said calmly, accepting the olive branch. "What is the problem?"

"Sakutia."

Rachel placed the tea cup back on its saucer slowly and delicately, then eased back and stared at Dayton for a few seconds.

"When was he bitten?" she asked quietly.

"Two days ago, in the lab." Dayton's face was stony.

Her mouth felt dry. She swallowed and pulled herself together. "How come he's still alive?"

Dayton rubbed his forehead, as if he was suddenly tired. "Everything modern medicine can do has been done. Interferon, immunoglobulin, protease inhibitors, ribozymes, you name it, we've pumped him full of it," he said, his voice getting hoarse. "It has slowed down the infection, but he's got no more than two days left."

Rachel got up. There was no time to waste. "Take me to him."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** My medical knowledge ends with taking a Paracetamol when I have a headache. I tried to do a little research about how the immune system works on Wikipedia but the aforementioned headache set in after the second sentence. So if you find something wrong with my medical descriptions, think of it all as an AU where they can actually be plausible :)

-=oOo=-

Dayton nodded in agreement and rose. "Follow me, please."

Rita moved over to Rachel and touched her shoulder, turning to her husband.

"We'll meet you there, Steve!" she said blandly, but her voice had an inflexible, unyielding undertone to it. "Give us a couple of minutes."

Dayton's eyes flicked from his wife to Rachel and back. Without answering, he turned on his heel, left the room and closed the door behind him.

Rachel looked at Rita, puzzled.

"I'm sorry for Steve," Rita sighed, her eyes drifting away. "I know he doesn't look that way, but he cares for our son deeply."

Rachel nodded. "I've noticed. It did take me a while." She clasped the hand that Rita still kept on her shoulder. "I'm sorry if I overdid it."

"You were fine," Rita looked up with a smile. "I think he needed it. He needed to let his love and his concern out, and not…" her voice trailed off, her head bowed and her shoulders fell. Rachel could now see the dark circles under her eyes. They were well-camouflaged by expert makeup, invisible from a distance and difficult to detect even from up close. It was the older woman's sudden slump that revealed them.

Rachel shifted. It was far from the first time she had faced distressed family members and friends, but she never managed to get used to it. Her mind searched frantically for a way to get out of the uncomfortable situation. She squeezed Rita's hand in sympathy and cleared her throat. "We… should go. Let's not keep Mr. Dayton waiting."

Rita chuckled and straightened up. "Indeed," she agreed, then opened the door for Rachel. "Let's join him. The sooner you can see Garfield, the better."

" _Garfield?_ " Rachel snorted in amused disbelief, then her hand slapped over her mouth in absolute mortification at what she'd done. She felt her face burn as she looked guiltily at Rita.

Rita smiled at her discomfort. "Oh, don't feel bad about it, dear," she placed a soothing arm around the young girl's shoulders. "I reacted the same way you did when I heard it first."

Rachel let out a deep, relieved breath. "I… see. Still, I'm sorry, I just didn't expect –" she began apologizing before Rita's words actually registered in her mind. For a second or two, her mouth hung open in astonishment.

"Wh – what do you mean, 'when you heard it first'?" she stammered, her eyes widening.

"Garfield's adopted," Rita's smile widened a bit. "His full name is Garfield Mark Logan."

Rachel followed Rita out, slowly emerging from her confusion. A smirk formed slowly on her face.

"Rita?" she called to the older woman. "You've been married to – to Steve for many years, right?"

"That's correct," Rita nodded, raising an eyebrow at the question. Rachel's smirk got bigger.

"He's rubbing off on you."

Rita gave her a wide, crooked smile in response and led the way.

-=oOo=-

 _Garfield,_ she thought, turning the name around in her mind. "Garfield," she whispered, noting how it rolled off easily from her lips. "Garfield," she tried again, louder. Rita looked at her over her shoulder. Rachel blushed, but quickly recovered. "It's actually quite a nice name."

"It is, dearie." The reply was calm and reassuring, and a spark of amusement shone in the older woman's eyes. "He's also quite good looking, if I say so myself." Rachel managed not to blush again, but only just barely.

They came to a door and Rita paused, opening it for Rachel to go through. She stepped into the room and nodded to an impatient-looking Steve Dayton. A nurse was sitting nearby, pretending to read a magazine and hiding a suspicious glare.

But she couldn't spare the nurse or Dayton any further attention. Her eyes were pulled immediately towards the infirmary bed set up against the far wall, surrounded by quietly beeping medical monitors. Resting on its crisp, white linen was the prone form of a young man, covered up to his chest in a light blanket.

She approached him swiftly, her eyes studying him with interest. A mop of unruly, dirty-blond hair plastered over a sweaty, feverish forehead. Long, almost girlish lashes covered his closed eyes under dark, expressive eyebrows. A finely-formed nose above a wide, generous mouth partly opened to show a glimpse of sharp, white teeth. A strong jawline that still kept traces of boyish roundness, softening it somewhat and giving him a permanent expression of childlike innocence.

 _Good looking?_ Rachel chuckled inside. _He's an absolute dreamboat!_

Not even the feverish blush on his cheeks that contrasted unhealthily with the sickness-induced pallor of his face could mar his attractiveness; even the tubes stuffed into his nose and electrodes stuck to the sweaty skin didn't make him any less appealing. She swallowed.

Her gaze slid down. He was wiry more than muscular, but still there was a lot for her eyes to appreciate. To her regret the sheets covered him from the chest down; she really wouldn't mind taking a quick look to see if the lower parts were as pleasing as –

She blinked and startled herself out of it. _Whoa! Earth to Rachel Roth? How about a little less drooling and a little more focus on the reason why you're here in the first place?_

She sat on the bed beside him and frowned. _Not fair,_ she mused. _To be both stinking rich and fabulously good looking, that's just insulting._

A small sigh floated up from her chest. _Forget it, Rachel. In the end it all has to balance out. He'll probably turn out to be a spoiled, arrogant brat. Just focus on what you have to do._

She turned to the adoptive parents. "Is he in a coma?"

Dayton nodded. "Induced. Will that be a problem?"

Rachel's mouth twitched at the hint of disdain in his voice. "Not really. It's probably better this way."

She scanned the monitors quickly. She had no medical training, but experience taught her to make some quick assessments. His temperature was just under a hundred and four, and both his blood pressure and heartbeat were surprisingly high for a coma. She had no idea what that could mean.

Her eyes went to the bandage on his forearm. A shade of unnatural green spread from under it and over his arm, fading into his normal tan by the time it reached his shoulder. She had never seen sakutia before; the disease was extremely rare and confined mainly to remote parts of Africa. Its one-hundred-percent mortality rate and the sheer viciousness of its destructive onslaught actually kept it from extending too far. All infected were dead within a day or so, curtailing the ability of the virus to spread.

Rabies was the only other disease that could even compare with it. It shared with sakutia an almost-total mortality rate, with barely a handful of documented cases of recovery in all the millennia that it scourged mankind. But rabies had an incubation period of weeks, sometimes even months, during which there was much one could do, including vaccination. It killed only when the virus invaded the central nervous system and the symptoms appeared. It was a cause for intense personal pride for her that she alone saved three persons in such state, almost as many as the entire medical community put together.

But sakutia didn't give such breaks. She shivered, hoping she could make it work.

"Do you need anything before you start?" Dayton's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. The disdain in it was getting stronger.

"Nothing," she replied neutrally. "Just don't interrupt me until I'm finished."

"And how are we supposed to know when –"

"When I tell you!" she snapped back, losing the battle against her mounting irritation. She took a deep breath. "It's important that I'm not disturbed while I'm doing it."

Dayton's lips pressed together as he bit off a comment. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her, ignoring the soothing touch of his wife's hand on his shoulder.

-=oOo=-

She placed her hands on his head. The fore and middle fingers pressed gently on his temples, the thumbs grazing his forehead and the other fingers resting below his ears.

She whispered a soft chant that helped her concentrate and focus. Her mind opened and she sought to connect with her patient, following a path she had crossed many times before. Her own awareness abandoned her surroundings, building up and gathering in her fingers, permeating slowly into her patient's mind. It flowed in slowly and gently, trying not to startle and scare him. His comatose state helped; he would be mostly unaware of what's happening.

She felt the inside of his mind tentatively, the way someone looks around to ascertain their surroundings. There was surprisingly little pain; the anesthetics were doing a good job. But she could feel… distress. Fear, guilt, anger. Helplessness. Feelings that were familiar and common to all patients. His comatose state made them as tenuous as a spiderweb, as insubstantial as a light breeze on her cheek. But it also made his mind silent as a vault, a place where every whisper echoed and reverberated, pressing on her consciousness with an ethereal, sleepy but indisputable power. She shrugged it off and focused on establishing control over his immune system.

The battle inside him was raging at its fullest, but as usual it was directionless and random. She studied his body like a general examining a map of the battlefield. The medications he received had whipped his immune system into a frenzy and it slowed the progress of the infection enough to keep it contained for the moment to his arm; the virus had not yet attacked any vital organs. But she could see it gaining ground as his defenses struck haphazardly and incoherently, thrashing around like a blind man with a stick.

The antiviral drugs he received were a desperate move, fraught with danger. Vicious as it made his defense, it was still uncoordinated. In its berserk fury to deal with the invader, the immune system could end up destroying his own body. She had to get it under control and give it guidance.

She began by sending gentle encouragements. _This_ was the main enemy. Instruct the lymph nodes to stop wasting time trying to identify, memorize and produce antibodies for lesser threats, like the latest mutation of the common cold. Organize the apoptosis pathways so the infected cells could die before reproducing the sakutia virus. Concentrate the defenses on the critical areas and don't spread them randomly all over the body.

Very quickly her suggestions began paying off and the system became more receptive to her commands. Easing into her well-known role, she began orchestrating the battle with all the flair of a military commander. It _was_ a war, in a sense; a war no less vicious and unforgiving for being microscopic. No prisoners were taken; "scorched earth" was the only policy that both combatants agreed on.

Fifteen minutes later, Rachel sighed softly. She was tiring quickly. Her hard exertion was paying off, but even with all the effort invested she managed only to stop the spread of the disease, without being able to overwhelm the invasion and push it back.

In truth, she was half-expecting it. This was not a slow, ponderous infection or mutation. It was one of – no, forget that, it was _the_ most fearful disease she had ever heard of, and it was not going to be defeated by simple, everyday means. The only way she could overcome this horror was by going all-out. It was something she did very seldom, and it always scared her. But there was no other alternative.

She set her jaw against her apprehension and bent her head lower, so that the bindi jewel on her forehead touched his feverish skin. Almost instantly she felt drawn in much deeper and her control over the conflict became more defined and nuanced. Before diving in fully, she made sure that the door to her own mind remained wide open. She didn't even want to think what would happen if she lost herself in someone else's brain.

She took a deep breath and focused on her task. She gathered her forces and rallied her army and made them charge forward. Macrophages, NK-lymphocytes, B- and T-cells, she directed them all in a sweeping counterattack, isolating pockets of infection and reducing them, cutting off the virus from access to its reproductive sources and then eliminating it, cleansing the remains and fortifying the ground taken against the virus' sneak attacks. The virus fought back, eating into the tissue, turning healthy cells into replicating factories dying in bursts of released poison that infected more cells nearby. But its assault was blunted and the critical weight of its onslaught was lost, and the body's defenses turned the tide back, devouring and destroying and eradicating it almost completely.

Rachel was utterly exhausted, but she knew that there was one more thing to be done. She soothed the worked-up army back to its normal functioning and alert levels to avoid allergic reactions and other autoimmune problems. With the task at last finished, her spent and absolutely drained consciousness crawled back into her own mind and shut itself down in protest. Her muscles gave way and she collapsed over him, but her forehead was still pressed to his and her fingers were still touching his temples.

The Daytons noticed it and exchanged concerned glances.

"She may need help…" Rita whispered, not wishing to disturb Rachel.

"She said we were not to interrupt her," Dayton hissed softly. "If we touch her we may be causing trouble."

They remained still, watching her for a few seconds that seemed to stretch endlessly. Finally, Rita couldn't endure it any longer. She stepped towards the bed, shaking off Steve's hand that sought to restrain her. She reached down to touch Rachel's shoulder, then paused, straightened up and looked at her husband, eyes wide and shining with impossible hope.

"Steve, his arm…"

He crossed the distance in two long, quick strides and looked at Garfield's arm. The greenish tinge had almost disappeared. He lifted his head and cast a meaningful glance at the nurse, who hurried over.

"His temperature is going down…" the nurse whispered, as much not to disturb Rachel as because of her own disbelief. "Heartbeat and blood pressure are normalizing." Suddenly she frowned. "Brain activity has slowed down. It's like he fell into a deeper coma."

"Do you think we should wake her?"

She grasped Dayton under his arm and pulled him a step away. She looked up and smirked. "Mr. Dayton, I'm just as clueless as you are with regards to what this young lady there did. It looks like she's unconscious, and I would say that she's finished, but right now I don't feel I'm qualified to decide."

Dayton nodded. "I understand. Fetch Dr. Hayes, please."

-=oOo=-

Bright light stabbed into her eyes as soon as she tried to open them. She groaned and her hand moved to cover the blinding glare.

"She's coming to," the doctor commented unnecessarily. "She seems to be fine, at least physically."

Rachel propped herself up, her eyes still closed. A strong hand grasped her above the elbow and helped her sit up. A wave of dizziness swamped her.

" – ling better? You seem to have passed out."

She opened her eyes and looked at Steve Dayton's scowling face. She frowned. It was not the ideal sight to see when you were just recovering from a moment of weakness. Then memory reasserted itself and she gasped.

"Garfield… your son!" she muttered hoarsely. "Is he…"

Dayton's scowl softened. "You seem to have been successful. We are taking blood samples and we'll rush them through the lab, but his temperature has gone down and he seems to be much better."

Rachel nodded and tried to get up. Dayton's strong hand helped her and kept her steady.

"That was absolutely amazing, Miss!" she heard and unknown voice. She turned to see a man in a white medical overall with a name tag that stated simply "Dr. Gordon Hayes" on his lapel.

Rachel smiled at his beaming face. "Thank you. I'm just glad it worked. It was the toughest fight I had."

"It doesn't surprise me," he grinned, then his face got serious. "I must admit, Miss Roth, that I had grave doubts as to your… abilities. I apologize."

Rachel hid a snort. "I understand, Dr. Hayes. Believe me, I am familiar with disbelief and ridicule."

The doctor chuckled, far from offended. "Are you feeling well? You seemed to be mentally exhausted by your intervention."

"I was, but I'm a lot better now," she assured him. "Still, right now I just want to go home and fall in bed and sleep until noon tomorrow."

"If you want, I have some mild stimulants – vitamin cocktails, nothing nasty – to help you recover quicker?"

Rachel nodded gratefully. "Thank you, doctor. That would be great. Unfortunately, _cura te ipsum_ doesn't work for me; I can't influence my own health for some reason."

"Good!" the doctor smirked. "That means I still have a job!"

He retreated to confer with the nurse. Two arms went around Rachel and Rita's perfume tickled her nostrils. She felt a small kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you!" the older woman managed to rasp in a half-choked voice, then turned away and fled the room to hide the tears wreaking havoc on her makeup.

Rachel was still in a bit of a daze. She saw Dayton follow his wife out of the room. If it was anyone else, Rachel would say it was to comfort the sobbing woman. But knowing Dayton…

She shook her head. Such thoughts were unworthy. She knew them too little to assume such things.

The nurse approached with a hypo and injected her with the stimulant quickly, efficiently and painlessly. Rachel chuckled inside; Dayton employed only the best. She was dabbing the puncture with a little cotton swab as Dayton returned.

"This is yours," he said in a neutral tone of voice, handing her an envelope. Not understanding, Rachel simply folded it and placed it in her jeans' pocket. Seeing her reaction, Dayton's lips curled in a lopsided smile, but he didn't comment.

"Will you be able to drive?" he inquired. Rachel lifted an eyebrow at his concern, then relaxed. After what happened, she could demand a helicopter to whoosh her home and Dayton would comply without batting an eyelid.

"I'll be fine, Mr. Dayton. It's not the first time I do this. Though I admit…"

He nodded, understanding, and extended his hand. Rachel couldn't avoid a small smirk as she shook it and turned to leave.

"Miss Roth?" he called after her just as she reached the door. She glanced back at him.

"I owe you a large debt, Miss Roth." His eyes were hard as sapphires, and just as readable. "Remember it if you're ever in a situation where you may need my help."

Rachel felt strangely intimidated by his offer. She swallowed and suddenly remembered the envelope. She fished it out of the pocket, tore it open and removed the piece of paper inside it.

She stared at least one full minute at the amount written on the check. Finally she blinked and looked up, but Dayton was gone. She carefully placed the check back into its envelope, stuffed it again in her jeans and went out for her car.

-=oOo=-

She sighed as she leaned back. The recognizable smell of the vehicle's interior and the familiar felling of the car seat's upholstery were for some reason… strange, new, almost unknown. She must be more tired than what she thought. But it was too late now to go and ask Dayton for transportation. She grasped the wheel and turned the ignition on. She'll be OK as long as she drove a bit more carefully.

It was a long, but luckily uneventful drive. Her awareness was normal, probably thanks to the doctor's stimulant, but she still felt strangely out of place. She smiled; as soon as she got home she'd drop into bed without bothering even to shower. With that thought giving her peace she reached her destination.

She left the car in the underground parking of the building she lived in and took the elevator to her floor. Again she had this strange feeling of not knowing where she was, even though the elevator was as familiar to her as it ever was. She walked to her apartment's door and stared at the brass plaque with the number for a few seconds, trying to make sense of what she was feeling. Yes, that was her apartment number. Yes, this was her door. There was that small scrape beside the lock where she scratched the paint when holding the key in an uncertain hand a few months ago.

She shrugged off the feeling, unlocked and opened the door and walked in, locking it behind her. The curtains had been drawn and the interior was gloomy, but she preferred it that way. She navigated the well-known interior of the small apartment, heading unerringly towards her bedroom.

 _Where am I?_

She shook her head. She was _really_ tired.

Usually, Rachel was a stickler for cleanliness and order, but this time she just squirmed out of her clothes and left them laying on the floor, then slid between the sheets with a deep sigh of contentment and relief. She snuggled into the down pillow, made herself comfortable and was out like a light.

Soon enough she was standing in the hallway of the old house. A sense of dread filled her, much stronger than it was then. Because then she didn't know. Because then she was innocent.

She stepped towards the living room, calling out for her parents – _a leafy branch slapped her face and blinded her for a moment_ – and she saw her father, his back turned to her but his long, silvery hair unmistakable, his heavy breathing – _roaring like a waterfall_ – shaking her as she saw her mother's legs – _mother's arm waving goodbye_ – her father's hand holding the still-dripping poker – _waving goodbye together with mother_ – the stain spreading over the floor – _the water roaring and drowning their screams_ – her mother's scream – _both their screams_ –

She screamed and shot up in bed, gasping, the cold sweat covering her chest and back, her body shivering and her hands shaking uncontrollably. Her mouth was parched and her breath heaved in and out of her lungs. She tried to swallow and breathe, and breathe and swallow, panting and wheezing and fighting to regain a small part of calmness and rationality. It was just a nightmare. It was just _the_ nightmare.

It was not the same as always, there was something different – _No,_ she blanked her mind, refusing to remember it, breathing deeply and focusing on nothing more but the rhythm of her inhalations and exhalations, locking her awareness out of everything and anything else. The shivers slowly died out, gone like the drying sweat on her back. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

 _Where am I?_

She dismissed the thought angrily. She didn't get enough sleep because of the damned nightmare, but as soon as she attended to a call of Nature she'd go back to bed and sleep until the exhaustion went away, or she got too hungry.

She sat on the toilet and gazed at the white tiles.

 _Why am I sitting?_

She flinched in confusion. Now _that_ was a stupid thought.

 _Shouldn't I be…_

She shook her head, trying to drive the obnoxious thoughts away. She finished what she was doing, got up, opened the faucet and squeezed some liquid soap on her hands before she began washing them.

 _Those hands… Small, delicate… Beautiful._

She lifted an eyebrow. Yes, she supposed her hands were nice. She was a bit too pale for her own taste, but her fingers were slender and elegant.

 _No. They are not mine,_ another deeply confused thought came over her.

She frowned. Now what in all blue blazes was wrong with her for such idiocy to play around in her mind? She lifted her head and looked at the mirror.

She shrieked and jumped back, slamming her shoulder into the doorframe. It sent her spinning and she lost her balance, falling heavily on the floor and bruising her butt.

 _What in the name of…_

She sat on the floor for a few seconds, trying to order her suddenly panicked thoughts, ignoring the pain in her behind and her shoulder. Making a sudden decision, she leaned forward and seized the bathroom's doorframe to pull herself up. She strode resolutely inside and stopped, her hand going to her mouth. She bit down hard on her own knuckle, desperately trying to negate the reality of it all as she gazed with fixed and unblinking eyes at her reflection.

The face that stared back at her from the mirror, copying exactly her own expression of wide-eyed horror and astonishment, was the face of Garfield Logan.


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel rocked gently as she hugged her knees, huddling on the floor of her bedroom with her back against the wall beside the bathroom door.

"This is not happening," she whispered to herself. "It's not true. It can't be true."

 _What's going on? Where am I?_

"Please go away," she muttered and closed her eyes, tightening the grip on her knees. "Please, just go away!"

 _Go away where? I don't even know where I am! What's happening to me? Who was that girl in the mirror?_

"Go away!" she whimpered. Her hands pressed over her ears and the nails dug painfully into her scalp. "Shut up! SHUT _UP! GET OUT OF MY MIND!_ "

 _Your mind?_

She hugged her knees again and ignored him, but without any conscious effort her eyes opened and one of her arms unwrapped from around her legs, bringing the hand close to her face. Rachel watched it as it moved and twisted around the wrist joint and the fingers opened and closed. She felt a sensation of wonder and fascination, as if she was amazed at how a part of her own body looked and felt.

 _These are not my hands…_

"No, they are _mine,_ " Rachel snarled and her hand closed into a fist suddenly. "They are mine, and this is _my_ body. _My_ mind. And you are _not_ welcome!"

 _But how…_ he began, then fell silent for a few seconds.

 _Rachel?_

She lifted her head in frowning puzzlement. "How do you know my name?"

 _It's all around me. I can see it, I can hear it, I can even smell and taste it, as weird as that sounds._

Her hands went up again and she pulled at her hair until the pain made her eyes tear up.

 _Hey, that hurts!_ he complained. She ignored him, took a deep breath and tried to calm herself.

"Just go away, Garfield. Return to your own body."

 _My own… Wait, you know who I am? Then – hang on._ Again he was silent for a few moments.

 _Oh. I see now._

"You see _what?_ " she growled.

 _I see what happened. When you… you cured me? That was awesome! Thanks! You saved my life!_

"I wonder if I should have," she commented dryly.

 _Now you're lying. You're not too good at lying, are you?_ The voice in her mind was definitely amused.

She grit her teeth. He was taking all this _way_ too lightly, and she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

 _A somewhat unfortunate choice of words, wouldn't you say?_ she could just picture him smirking.

She got up from the floor and strode into the bathroom to face the mirror. His reflection watched her back, mimicking the angry but curious expression on her own face. She was just opening her mouth, ready to scold him, when the sight of his eyes took over her entire attention.

Green, clear and deep. They went so well with the rest of him, so natural, so… _appropriate_. She stared at them for a long time, barely breathing.

 _So beautiful…_

"Wh-what?" she stammered and pulled back, noticing a fierce blush rising up his cheeks. She felt her face burn.

 _Uh… Did I say it out loud? I'm, um, sorry, I –_

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. She swallowed and took another deep breath.

"It's… it's fine, Garfield." Her mouth still felt dry, but she fought the reflex to swallow again. "It's actually nice of you to say that."

 _Yeah, I mean… I don't usually say such things aloud, and…_

She pounced on his discomfort to hide her own. "You mean you've never told a girl she's beautiful?"

Her face blazed like a forest fire out of control. _No! I mean, yes! Of course I did! Say it, I mean! Plenty times!_

" _Plenty_ times?" It was just too good to pass up.

Her gaze dropped, but her smirk widened. The mixture of amusement and awkwardness she felt was for some reason exhilarating. She felt him use her mirth to calm down and her shoulders shook in a silent chuckle.

 _Yeah, well, not that plenty. I suppose you can feel it when I'm not telling the truth._

"It's like trying to lie to yourself," she snickered.

Her brows knitted and she looked back at the mirror. _Not fair, Rach! It's not nice of you to – oooooh!_

Her eyebrow went up. "What?"

The image of his eyes in the glassy surface suddenly lit up with a mischievous glint. _You also think I'm good looking, don't you?_

Rachel's face and ears felt like she'd stuck her head in an oven. "I. Do. _NOT!_ "

She felt another dry chuckle breeze through her. _Yep, definitely a bad liar._

"How about we focus on the important things?" she growled, trying to hide her embarrassment and realizing it was useless.

 _You're the boss,_ his reflection gave her a wide, goofy grin. She seldom ever grinned, the feeling on her lips and her face was unusual but certainly not unpleasant. She pushed it all away from her mind and rolled her eyes at his seeming lack of concern for the seriousness of the situation.

 _I know it's serious,_ his amused voice startled her. She was still not used to him sensing everything she thought. _It's just that I can't help thinking how cool this is. Can you imagine it? Sharing the mind and body of a cute girl?_

"Garfield!" she exploded and her face glowed crimson.

-=oOo=-

"… so what I think happened is that your mind, your consciousness, your soul, whatever you want to call it, was transferred into my mind while I was using the Ajna chakra to connect deeper with you."

 _Yeah, I remember seeing an open door and going through it. There was a soft light glowing inside and it attracted me for some reason._

"Hmm. I guess that sounds about right. And since you were in an induced coma, the links that kept your mind tied to the rest of you were already either weakened or severed. That's why you didn't get a feeling of leaving your own body and invading –"

 _Hey!_

"Sorry. Is 'visiting' better?"

 _Look, it's not like I did this on purpose!_ he grumbled, then caught her sarcastic snort. _All right! You could say I did it on purpose, but I sure didn't know this was going to happen!_

She sighed. "I know, Garfield. You were under stress and a lot of weird medications. I shouldn't expect you to act rationally under those circumstances."

 _It's Gar._

She blinked. "What?"

 _I hate 'Garfield'. Just call me 'Gar'. All my friends do._

She scowled. "We are not _friends,_ Garfield. We barely know each other. And as far as I'm concerned, it should _stay_ that way! We should focus on attempting to cut this unpleasant episode short and forget about each other, the sooner the better!"

There was no reply.

"Garfield?"

He remained silent, but she could feel his hurt smoldering. An exasperated growl was let loose from her throat.

"You're acting like a child, Garfield!"

 _Geez, being upset because you're treating me like an unwelcome nuisance is acting like a child?_

"Well, excuse me if I'm not comfortable with having someone else in my mind, reading my private thoughts!"

 _Oh, yeah? I could say that same thing! And I'm not used to having other people's inner feelings being shouted at me! Especially if they're so… disdainful!_

Her breath burst out in a derisive sneer. "Do you even know what that word means?"

 _I do. It may surprise you, Rachel, but I'm not an idiot._

"Sure could've fooled me," she grumbled, then bit her tongue. But the damage was done.

 _I'm sorry I'm causing you so much trouble._ She'd never figure that an internal voice could be so cold. _Please see to it that we can get this done and over with as soon as possible._

"Garfield…"

 _What?_

"Look, I'm sorry…"

 _Are you?_

"Of course I am!" she shouted at the mirror. "And don't tell me you can't feel I'm being sincere!"

His image was frowning, and she understood that she was seeing a reflection of her own irritation. His expression changed subtly as his lower lip jutted out while his brow was still furrowed. He was actually _pouting_. And by Azar, he looked absolutely _adorable_ while doing it.

She dismissed it quickly from her mind, hoping he didn't catch it. But his frown cleared and another large grin split his face in half.

 _You look pretty hot yourself when you're angry, y'know that?_

For a moment she was speechless. For another, flustered. For a third, furious.

Then she allowed the hilarity of it all to come out and mingle with his own, and they dissolved into a fit of unbridled, gasping laughter.

-=oOo=-

"That's the best course of action, don't you agree?" Rachel spoke as she undressed herself to take a shower. "We'll go out, have some breakfast and then go straight to the library so I can look up in the literature what exactly happened and how to reverse it. Then we'll call Rita and Steve, explain what's going on, drive over to Dayton Manor and get you back into your own body."

 _Sounds great! You're a smart one, arentcha?_

"Oh, give it a break!" she growled, trying to ignore the warm feeling that flooded her at hearing his compliment. He didn't reply, but his amusement shone as bright as a searchlight.

"Humph!" she stepped out of her panties, picked them up together with the rest of the clothes and stomped off into the bathroom for her shower. Inside, she pushed all the clothes into the hamper – she'd need to do her laundry tomorrow at the latest, judging from its fullness – and straightened out to check herself in the mirror.

Her head was jerked to the side and her eyes scampered up to stare fixedly at the ceiling. Confused by the sudden reaction, she forced her head back and her eyes to the mirror.

She shrieked and covered her chest with her arms.

"Garfield! You _pervert!_ "

 _Hey, I tried to look away! It's not my fault!_

But her mounting rage was not in the mood for logic or reason. "How _dare_ you! Just because –"

She cut herself off, suddenly extremely aware of the feeling of her arms pressing against two firm mounds of flesh, and the sensation of her… of _those things_ poking into the skin of her forearms. The realization that _he could feel it, too_ crashed into her mind, blanking it out in a fit of horrified consternation.

She tore a towel off the rack and pressed it over her chest, running out of the bathroom and throwing herself face-first on the bed. Sobs convulsed her and tears ran freely from her eyes, smearing themselves in a wet stain over the linen of her pillow.

 _Calm down. Shhhh. Relax._ The words echoed quietly through her mind and a feeling of care and concern cradled gently her panicked consciousness, rocking it and soothing it like a frightened child, until she stopped hyperventilating and her heartbeat slowed down to a fast drumming.

 _It's OK, Rachel. Shhhh. It's fine. We'll find a way out of this. Everything will be fine. I promise._

Rachel sniffled and swallowed, pulling herself together. "I… I'm sorry, I guess. I suppose I… overreacted," her voice still trembled. "I just couldn't help feeling… _violated._ "

 _I know. I'm sorry. I swear, I'd never do anything like that –_

She took a deep breath. "I know, Gar. I can feel you're being truthful. But still…"

She felt a smile spread over her face. _Did you just call me 'Gar'?_

"Pah!" she snorted in exasperation. "Do you have to take everything so lightly?"

 _Why shouldn't I? Life is what you make of it, and I prefer to make it fun._

It was clear enough that his words described indeed his true feelings, but she couldn't fail to sense that there was something much deeper beneath it. Her mind tried to dive in and unveil it, automatically, unconsciously, much as one focuses on a thought of one's own.

 _Please don't._

She jerked her thoughts away as if scalded. "Sorry, I didn't mean… I was about to…"

 _I know. It's damn difficult to preserve our mutual privacy being like this, but let's give it a try. I won't dig into your memories if I can avoid it, and you could do the same._

"Deal," she mumbled her agreement. "Let's hope it works."

He heaved a mental sigh. _Let's._

The cramp in the fingers that held the towel to her chest had loosened by then. "So, what do we do now?" she frowned. "I really don't wish to go out without taking a shower, but…"

 _We could turn off the light,_ he suggested. _First make sure all the stuff you'll need is at hand and then turn the light off. We'll do it slowly and carefully so we don't slip and fall._

"That's a good plan, Gar. But it doesn't solve the other problem."

 _What other prob – oh. Oh, I see._

"Right. How do I wash myself without you feeling my hands on my body? I can't just… skip washing _there._ "

 _You have a loofah mitt. Maybe that could help?_

"Hmmm. It's not such a bad idea. At least it won't be direct contact," she grumbled, but a heartening sense of hope rose in her. "That was good thinking. It's not ideal, but it will help."

 _I promise I'll try to keep my mind away from it all and focus on something else. You should also try to, uh, perform it as routinely as possible._

Rachel pursed her lips and thought for a few moments. "It's either that or go out all stinky. Let's do it," she said firmly, her mind made up. Suddenly she scowled. "Garfield…"

 _Hey, I'm not a creep!_

She smiled. "No. Of course you're not."

-=oOo=-

 _Do girls really use all this stuff?_ His amazement at the number of cosmetic products she considered necessary was genuine. _I thought butter and jelly were food items._

"Ha ha. Very funny!" she snapped, then forced herself to relax. "You do have a point. Let's keep it down to bare essentials until we can fix this."

She selected a shower gel, shampoo and conditioner and laid them out within easy reach. She closed her eyes and groped for the bottles, feeling the shape of each container, committing it to memory. "This could actually work," she smiled. "Once all this is over I'll give my skin a proper pampering."

He remained silent, but there was a feeling of…

"Gar…?"

A fire blazed up her neck and cheeks, all the way to her ears.

 _I'm sorry!_

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the feeling away. "It's my fault, Gar. I shouldn't've –"

He was silent for a while. _You do have very nice skin._

She cleared her throat. "Uh… Yes. Yes, I suppose… Yes. Um… Thanks."

She bit the inside of her cheek. That wasn't a normal reaction for her; it must've been Gar.

 _Let's do this, shall we?_

"Good idea," she said, letting out a long gust of breath.

Rachel triple-checked that everything she needed was at hand and easy to reach, then turned the light off and removed the towel. Her fingers found the rack easily and wrapped the cloth around it, and she stepped slowly and gingerly through the darkness towards the shower stall, her outstretched hands feeling the way for her.

 _That's it. Nice and slow. We're not in a hurry._

She found the faucet and opened it, adjusting the temperature of the water. "Here goes nothing," she muttered and moved under the scalding jets.

"So far so good," she mumbled to herself as she shampooed her hair. All of a sudden she became aware of a melody humming in her head.

 ** _All of me, why not take all of me  
Can't you see, I'm no good without you…_**

"Gar? Is that you _singing?_ "

The melody stopped. _Uh, yeah, I, um, like to sing in the shower. And it keeps my mind away from… you know._

Rachel chuckled. "Was that Billie Holiday?"

He didn't reply, but her mind had a vision of a cute, fluffy puppet monster removing parts of its body and giving them to another cute, furry puppet monster while singing that song.

" _The Muppet Show?_ Really, Gar?"

 _Hey, I like it… I loved it since I was a kid, and I still enjoy it today._

"I love the Muppets, too!" she smirked into the gloom. "The song is… kind of appropriate."

 _I knew you'd like it,_ he said and returned to his singing.

 ** _Take my lips, I want to lose them  
Take my arms, I'll never use them._**

Soon, without her even noticing, Rachel joined him and her low, raspy voice crooned the words happily to the drone of the spraying water.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay! I'm having Internet problems but they should be solved by the end of the week. In the meantime, enjoy!

-=oOo=-

The shower ended with no mishaps and Rachel managed to get dressed with a minimum of awkwardness, fixing her gaze to an undefined spot on the wall and forcing her mind to go blank and her fingers to go through the daily ritual of putting on her clothes using only muscle memory. Garfield helped her by humming the song and focusing his thoughts on the hungry rumbling in Rachel's belly. Finally squirming into faded blue jeans and throwing on a black turtleneck, Rachel ran a quick brush over her short hair.

 _You have nice hair. You should let it grow longer._

She frowned at his image in the mirror. "Long hair is a pain to care for. I prefer it this way."

 _I'm just sayin', I think it would suit you…_

"I suppose that means the way I am now doesn't suit me?" Rachel smirked.

 _No, of course not. You look great. It's just –_

"Gar, I know I'm not much of a beauty. You don't have to patronize me."

 _I'm not patronizing you,_ he grumbled, and she could feel a small spark of irritation flash through him. _If anything, you should be able to feel I'm being honest._

She waved away his compliment. "I'm pale as a corpse and my eyes have this weird color. I creep people out."

 _You don't creep me out. And your complexion is perfect._

A powdering of pink appeared on her cheeks. She felt its heat and scowled at the mirror, trying to ignore it. "Stop playing with me, Garfield. Let's focus on what we have to do."

 _I'm not playing with you! What I want to say is…_ He was silent for a couple of moments, then his confused, urgent thoughts burst out and invaded her mind.

 _When I told you… when I thought… when I said what you heard that I thought, I meant it, I mean I really thought it, not that I think too much too often, and I really thought it, I mean I meant it when I said it, even if I didn't really say it but you heard it like I said it but I actually thought it and I mean I really really meant it –_

"Gar!" she leaned on the sink and squeezed her eyes shut. "You're making me dizzy!"

 _I… I'm sorry._

"I couldn't make heads or tails of that, Garfield. What were you trying to tell me?"

Again he lapsed into silence. She stared at his reflection and felt her face burn, then her eyes dropped.

 _Let's get some breakfast. I'm hungry._

She lifted her gaze to look at him again. The image in the mirror met her with a joyful grin, but the expression in his eyes was obscured by a heavy velvet curtain that she felt falling across her mind, effectively separating them.

-=oOo=-

Rachel set a brisk pace, trying to focus on walking and not on Garfield's behavior. Was he hiding something from her? _Could_ he hide anything from her? Could _she_ hide her own private memories and thoughts from him?

She shook her head and pushed all that away. Her mind's hand touched gently the imaginary dark curtain that separated them, then retreated. She couldn't ask him to respect her privacy if she didn't respect his.

Fueled by her nervousness and uncertainty, her steps quickened and became almost a trot, before his sudden thought startled her.

 _Where are we going?_

She slowed down and tried to relax and convince herself that there was nothing to be anxious about. "It's just around the corner. It's one of my favorite places; I'm sure you'll like it." Thinking about breakfast made her belly rumble again. "Azar, I'm hungry!"

Rachel soon turned the corner. The delicious smell of bacon crisping in a skillet wafted towards her as she approached the aptly named _Bacon Bungalow_. "There!" she exclaimed and took a deep breath, the smell making her mouth water –

– just as a sense of nausea swept through her. Her legs stopped moving and her feet planted themselves solidly on the ground.

 _I am not going in there!_ she sensed his outraged thought.

"What in Azar's holy name do you think you're doing? I'm hungry!"

 _I will not eat dead carcasses!_

"What do you mean, 'dead carcasses'?" she shouted, exasperated, then quickly covered her mouth as the thankfully few passersby regarded her with uneasy curiosity.

"What 'dead carcasses' are you talking about? I want to eat breakfast!" she whispered into her hand, looking guiltily around. She must look like a loon, mumbling to herself.

 _I'm vegan! I don't eat… I don't eat such food!_

"Hrnnn!" she growled, restraining a rush of anger. "I'm hungry, Garfield! Stop being impossible!"

 _I. Will. Not. Eat. Meat!_

" _You_ are not eating _anything!_ " her fists balled and her eyes closed as she strove to control herself. " _I_ am eating _my_ breakfast!"

 _We are sharing this body, and while I'm in it, I refuse to turn my stomach into a graveyard!_

"It's not _your_ stomach! It's _mine!_ "

 _Yes, but I'm in your mind, therefore your body is mine, too! At least until we –_

"That's IT! Get OUT! _GET OUT OF MY MIND!_ "

Again people looked at her like she just escaped from an asylum. A small girl pointed a finger at her and asked mommy innocently about the strange lady shouting to herself in the middle of the street, only to be jerked away by the concerned parent. Rachel wished for the sidewalk to crack beneath her feet, for the earth under it to split and swallow her and close and seal her in unrecognizable darkness.

 _I wish I could,_ she heard his cold reply, _but I can't! Maybe I'm forced into this situation, but it doesn't mean that I'm about to give up on my principles!_

The furious healer stepped in front of a shop window and glared at Garfield's reflection.

"Listen to me, you self-indulgent, insensitive, over-pampered, spoiled _baby!_ " she snarled, enraged in equal measure by the awkward situation she found herself in and by his pig-headedness. " _Your_ principles do not apply to _my_ body! I swear by Azar, I don't understand what kind of parents could raise such a… such a _brat!_ "

The eyes gazing at her from the shop window became hard and opaque. She saw his jaw muscles bulge, just before his image slowly dissolved and she was left staring at her own wide-eyed reflection.

"Garfield?" she gasped in confusion. "Where did you go?"

Something was not right. Yes, she had shouted at him, and her words weren't the friendliest, but…

"Oh, Azar!" she whispered as understanding flashed in her mind. "Adopted. He's adopted. That means his _real_ parents…"

She pressed her thumb and fingers over her forehead. "Way to go, Rachel!" she muttered, then looked again at the large glass window. "Gar?"

There was no answer. She felt her heart sink.

"Gar, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!"

Nothing. Her mind was as silent as an empty house. She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on the dark, heavy velvet barrier he placed between them. With courage born out of despair, she tore it aside.

"Gar, please…" she said hoarsely. "Forgive me, I didn't want to… I didn't know!"

A series of powerful images assaulted her, and she could see it all. The branch, the torrent, the canoe, the waterfall. The expression of fear and love on her parents' – _not_ her parents' – on their faces. The roar of water falling and crashing through roiling mist.

She could do nothing but watch.

 _GO AWAY!_ his scream tore her away from the images. _IT'S MINE! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE HERE!_

Her mind jerked back. "Gar," she whined.

 _STAY AWAY FROM THERE! IT'S NOT YOURS, IT'S MINE!_

"Please, I didn't want to…"

Silence answered her, together with indescribable sorrow and loss. Her eyes burned and her throat tightened.

"I… I'm sorry, I'll… I'll stay away. I'm sorry, Gar. Please, I won't ever do that again. Please."

 _It's too late now._

The heavy, soft curtain fell between them again. Her feverish forehead pressed on the cool glass of the shop window. Her sight blurred.

"I screwed up again," she whispered to herself. "I've messed it all up again. Everything I touch wilts and shrivels. Everything I care for I soil and ruin. Why?" she choked on the bile she felt rising. "Why am I like this?"

Her own memories rushed at her, tearing free of the chains she restrained them with, bursting from the sticky clay she buried them under like undead, rotting hands reaching from a grave to wrap icy, poisonous fingers around her heart and claw at her soul. Her shoulders shook with silent sobbing and her eyes burned with unshed tears. Her knees weakened and buckled and she began sliding down the glass pane to the pavement.

Her mind retreated completely from her body, immersing itself fully into the toxic pool of her own self-recrimination. But her legs found strength elsewhere and she straightened up, casting a quick glance around her to see if her outburst had attracted any more unwelcome attention. She never noticed it. Her mind was only aware of itself curling up in a fetal position, her eyes, ears and mouth full of scorchingly bitter memories, unable to focus on the outside world.

Slowly, ever so slowly the sensation of being cradled again in that gentle, calming embrace washed over her. Wisps of a soft song reached her dazed consciousness, soothing like a lullaby. Her mind shifted, searching desperately for the source of the warmth and the comfort that had enveloped her, and buried itself deep into it, feeling its sweet, tender caress chase away the cloying, metallic taste of guilt.

It was hard to let go. She didn't want to. But rationality finally reasserted itself and her mind flowed into her body again, as if it was putting on an old, well-worn and well-loved sweater, snug and warm. She shook herself free with much reluctance and returned her awareness to her surroundings.

She was standing in an alley, close to the shop. She understood immediately what had happened. Gar had taken over her body and brought her here to hide from view until he could calm her down. She felt a strange sensation swell inside her, but quickly pushed it down and took a deep breath.

"Thank you, Gar. And… sorry."

 _Don't be. I should be sorry for snapping at you like that. You couldn't have known –_

"Maybe I should have," she brushed his words away. "I have a knack for screwing things up. Please, forgive me."

 _There's nothing to forgive. It wasn't your fault, Rachel. None of it was._

She almost shrugged him off when the meaning of his words slammed into her.

"Wh – what did you see?"

He was silent for a few moments.

 _All of it._

She went rigid, all her muscles tensing at once. She stood frozen for a few seconds, then relaxed and let out a long breath. Her shoulders slumped.

"It's… my fault. I shouldn't have… _shouted_ my memories at you," she muttered. "There's nothing you could've done about it."

 _Will you stop that?_

Her eyes flew open as she jerked, startled. "Stop what?"

 _Stop blaming yourself for everything that happens! All this wasn't your fault, or mine! It just happened, OK? It was… an unfortunate accident!_

She snorted. "Yeah, right. How is it then that I seem to be a literal magnet for these 'unfortunate accidents'?"

 _Look, Rachel, what happened between us wasn't your fault. You said something that you couldn't know would hurt me. I don't hold it against you – at least now I don't. And what happened after that, you did out of concern for me. You can't feel guilty for being worried for someone!_

"It's not that, Gar. It's that every time I –"

 _No. That's not true. I can sense you, Rachel. You are kind, and generous, and caring._

She frowned. She knew he was wrong; if anything, her previous experience with – _No,_ she crushed that thought almost as soon as it appeared, feeling her face heat up.

 _He was an asshole._

"Garfield!" she gasped. "What kind of language is that?"

 _That ex-boyfriend of yours. He was an idiot, and you've got nothing to feel guilty about._

Her eyes squeezed shut and her fists clenched. "I do. I should've tried harder, I should've –"

 _RACHEL!_ His shout brought her back from the brink of the abyss. She leaned on a wall and shivered.

 _He used you, Rachel. He got what he wanted from you, and then tossed you away like an old newspaper. He's not worth it. Not worth a single one of your tears._

"Tears are all I have," she whispered.

 _Then maybe it's time to –_ he began, then fell silent.

"Time to what?" she asked, puzzled both at his unfinished sentence and at his sudden silence. Her belly rumbled.

 _Let's get something to eat._

-=oOo=-

"All right, no bacon then!" Rachel grumbled. "I suppose I can handle a veggie breakfast once in a while. Do you know any vegan places nearby?"

 _As a matter of fact, one of my faves is just a couple of blocks away. Want me to take you?_

" _Mi casa es su casa,_ " Rachel chuckled silently and relaxed, letting him take over and guide her steps to where he wanted.

A small smile spread over Rachel's face. It was a strange sensation; she felt like she was a passenger in her own body. There was an eager spring to her steps, as much from the wish to sate her – _their_ hunger as from the joyful demeanor she felt glowing in him.

"There it is," he said in her voice, looking at a small restaurant. Rachel focused on it, for a moment confused by looking out of her own eyes but still feeling like she was a guest. Then she saw the name of the place.

 _So… this is your, um, favorite?_

"Yeah," he whispered into his – _her_ hand so as not to attract attention. "The _Tofu Teepee_ has some of the best tofu in the city, and they make all sorts of delicious stuff out of it!"

Rachel fought an urge to swallow, knowing he'd notice if she did. _Uh… great. I can't wait._

He stopped and frowned. "What's wrong?"

 _Wrong? Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?_

"Rachel…"

 _Gar, I'm fine! Let's go eat. You must be starving._

He sighed and shook his head. "You don't like tofu, do you?"

 _What? No! I mean, I… I like it fine. Let's go._

"Rachel, I told you already you're a hopeless liar…"

 _Gar, it doesn't matter. I'm hungry, you're hungry, and there's, uh, food in there._

"No," he said with finality. "I'm not forcing you to go through something you hate just because I like it."

 _Gar, you're being unreasonable –_

"I'm being _very_ reasonable! I'm not going to –"

 _That's enough, Garfield Logan! Give me back my body so we can go in there and have breakfast!_

"I am NOT dragging you in there, and I am NOT making you eat something you don't like!"

 _You are not dragging me anywhere! I am walking in of my own free will and I'm eating whatever the Hell I want!_

"You don't want to eat tofu!" he shouted, by now oblivious to the disapproving frowns of passersby.

 _Oh, yeah? Who do you think you are, telling me what I do or do not want? Give me my body back!_

"I'm not giving you your body back! I will not have you go in there!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Gar could see a policeman watch them – him – _her_ – God, this was all so confusing – and mumble something into his radio.

"We need to move out. We're attracting attention."

 _Good,_ he could feel her smirk. _Get into the restaurant and problem solved._

He gritted his teeth – _her_ teeth, Garfield! Stop that, you're damaging a loaned body! – and he walked briskly away around the corner and into a much emptier and quieter side street. It was his turn to storm to the nearest shop window and glare at Rachel's image.

"Now look here, Rachel. Let's get something straight –"

 _I'm not talking to you unless you give me back my body._

"I'm not giving you back your body unless you promise me not to go into the restaurant!"

 _Garfield, I'm hungry! We've wasted at least an hour already with this pointless bickering, and we still have a full day ahead!_

His eyes closed and his fingers massaged his temples. Part of his mind realized it was definitely not a normal reaction for him. It was probably Rachel's muscle memory, or traces of her behavior that were deeply entrenched inside her.

"Look, Rachel, be reasonable. You hate tofu, and I won't enjoy it either, knowing I'm forcing you to eat it even if you don't like it. So why go through it all?"

Her belly growled, _loudly_.

 _Does that answer your question?_

"Ugh. How about a PB&J sandwich?"

 _Gar, we – I need to do serious research. I need a real breakfast. I can't do in on a PB &J and a cup of coffee!_

He sighed and scratched the back of his head. Now _that_ was much more like him. His face brightened suddenly.

"There's a vegetarian place really close by, the _Veggie Verandah,_ " he exclaimed. "We can have a nice, filling breakfast with no animal products that will keep you running for the better part of the day!"

 _As long as I don't have to chew on grass…_

He scowled. "You have no idea, do you? Beans! Mushrooms! Nuts, cashews, almonds! Nature's best, all packaged in a tasty morsel! Trust me, you'll have enough calories and everything else you'll need to carry us through whatever's expecting us!"

The frown on Rachel's reflection melted and she smiled. _If you say so. All right, Gar. That was some good thinking!_

"I'm not as dumb as I look," he gave her reflection a goofy grin, turned and began walking to their destination.

They walked for a short while when suddenly Gar broke the silence. "You have a nice smile, you know."

He felt heat on his – on _her_ cheeks. _Knock it off, Gar._

"No, really!" he said earnestly. "You know, I don't remember having seen you smile since we've… since all this happened. You should smile more."

 _I… no, I… I smile a lot. Really. It's just that…_ He felt her embarrassment and bit his – _her_ lip, Gar! Stop doing that!

An uncomfortable silence fell between them until they reached their destination. Before they could go in, he heard her voice.

 _Gar…_

"Hmmm?"

 _I don't think we need this anymore,_ she said, pointing with her mind's finger at the heavy curtain.

"We don't," he grinned and swept it away into oblivion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay. I hope I'll be able to update a bit more frequently now.

-=oOo=-

"Wanna take over?" Garfield mumbled into his – _her_ hand, casting furtive glances around to make sure he wasn't seen muttering to himself.

 _It's fine, Gar. You know the place much better than I do. Besides…_

"Mmhmm?" he hummed back questioningly as he walked to the restaurant entrance.

A small, raspy giggle sounded in his head. _It's an interesting experience. I feel like a passenger in my own body!_

He grinned hugely, the seldom used expression feeling strange on her face. "Anything to make you laugh!" he chuckled and pushed the door open.

The sudden assault of the restaurant's sights, sounds and more than anything the delicious aromas of some of his favorite cooking swamped him and his – well, _her_ – belly growled loudly. It also made him miss the delicious, fluttering warmth Rachel felt spreading inside her at his words before she crushed the sensation mercilessly in fit of panicked self-consciousness.

While she ruminated on what just happened, trying to sort out the whys and wherefores of her reactions, he found an empty table beside a window and sat her body down. As soon as he was seated he slid forward on the cushioned bench, easing back and draping his arm over the backrest, reaching with the other hand for the menu on the table. It gave her a reason to set aside her troubling introspection and she seized it with alacrity.

 _Gar!_ her stern thought startled him and made him straighten up abruptly. "Huh?" he squeaked in confusion.

 _That's not the way a girl is supposed to sit, Gar!_ she chided him, but the humor in her tone blunted the bite of her words.

"I suppose not," he spoke quietly through a grin, then affected the pose of what he imagined was befitting to a prim-and-proper girl.

Another tiny giggle sounded in his mind. _Thanks!_ her voice was quite amused. _Much better, even if now I look like I swallowed a broomstick!_ she teased him.

Chuckling softly to himself, Gar opened the menu and began studying it, humming his appreciation of the selection. "Anything catching your eye?" he mouthed voicelessly.

 _I'll defer to your much greater experience,_ was her playful answer. He smiled and focused on the menu, making his mind up.

A soft _pop_ sounded beside him. "So, what'll it be for ya, sweetie?"

"I'll have the grilled mushrooms, please," Gar replied without lifting his eyes from the menu. "with a side of eggplant and zucchini. And a large OJ to go with it!" he concluded, closed the menu and lifted his gaze at the waitress. But his eyes only managed to get halfway there. As they rose, they stumbled on a very low, very open and very revealing _décolletage,_ fixing themselves on it in an instant of unexpected fascination.

For a couple of seconds nothing moved, especially not Garfield's eyes. Another quiet _pop_ startled him out of his ensorcellment and his eyes snapped up to meet the waitress' smirking gaze.

"I'm flattered, sweetie," she snickered, popping another chewing gum bubble. "But I don't swing that way!"

She plucked the menu from Gar's – _Rachel's_ paralyzed hand and walked away with a good-humored taunt in the sway of her hips. Gar felt the heat of a blast furnace rise from the neck to his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.

A long breath he didn't even know he was keeping in sighed gustily from his chest. He smiled sheepishly and glanced at Rachel's reflection in the window.

"Heh!" he tried to make light of it through a traitorously dry mouth. "That was a… um… surprise!"

She didn't reply. She stared ahead with a wooden face, the only signs of her displeasure evident in her usually full lips now pressed together into a thin, straight line, and the Arctic coldness that he could sense invading his belly.

He swallowed. "Uh, Rachel?"

 _What?_ The word was short, sharp and hard like broken glass. He gulped again.

"Are you… uh… upset?"

 _Why would I be?_ glittering icicles hung from her words. _You just humiliated me to the point that I won't ever be able to walk into this place again._

"Aw, c'mon!" he grinned without much conviction. "This is the 21st century! It's not like –"

 _Garfield!_ her frozen anger exploded into white-hot rage. _Maybe in your hedonistic, entitled, spoiled-rich-brat world it's not a big deal to stare so brazenly at other people's attributes, but for the vast majority of us common folk it's something that's simply NOT DONE!_

He frowned. "It was unexpected! I didn't do it on purpose, it caught me by surprise, all right? And I'm not hed – hedo – ARGH! I'm not a spoiled brat!"

 _Whatever,_ her anger cooled ominously to a chilly indifference. _Let's eat and get this entire sordid affair behind us. The sooner the better._

He huffed. "Look, Rachel, I'm sorry…"

 _Apology noted,_ she brushed his attempt aside coldly.

"But not accepted?" he scowled. A long and meaningful silence was his only answer.

He felt the frustration at her attitude rise in him. It was painfully clear that he'd wounded and angered her, and for some reason the knowledge left a cold, hurtful emptiness in his gut. It fueled his irritation until it flared into resentment, and he retreated into himself. Suddenly bereft of governance, her body slumped and began sliding off the bench.

Reacting quickly, Rachel took over control, barely preventing herself from sagging bonelessly to the floor. "Garfield!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "Are you _crazy?_ How can you –" she slapped a hand over her mouth and cut herself off abruptly, remembering she was in a very public place.

"What on Earth is _wrong_ with you?" she whispered fiercely into her hand. "You almost made me fall!"

 _I'm so sorry,_ he replied with undisguised sarcasm. _I've pulled back because I'm embarrassing you. The last thing I'd wanna do is make such a gracious host feel uncomfortable._

"By Azar's holy name, how can you be such a _child?_ " her fury erupted, before being smothered by the sudden silence that blanketed the restaurant at her outburst. She covered her eyes with her hand.

"Can this day get any worse?" she muttered to herself. The _pop_ of a chewing gum answered her question.

"Here ya go, sweetie. Enjoy it!" the waitress smirked as she placed the order on the table. "Think it'll be enough for all of ya?"

Rachel's face sank into her hands, which luckily prevented her from seeing the waitress' strut as she walked away. The teasing sway of her hips was much less good-natured now.

"I'm going to kill you, Garfield!" she growled softly but with earnest intensity. "I'm going to kick you back into your own body and then I'm going to strangle you!"

-=oOo=-

The distressing episode had cost Rachel some of her self-respect and most of her appetite, but the hunger still gnawed at her belly. She ate the food quickly and carelessly, without paying any attention to the flavor. Finished, she left enough cash on the table to cover the price and a correct tip and slunk out of the restaurant, trying not to attract any further attention.

Hasty, impatient steps carried her swiftly back to her apartment. Once inside she kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the couch, stretching out her legs and lifting a forearm to cover her eyes.

For a few minutes she focused on breathing deeply and rhythmically, allowing the simple exercise to wash away her shame, anger and confusion. Finally feeling a little calmer, she heaved a profound sigh.

"Gar."

A pouting silence answered her. She felt the irritation simmer again and ground her teeth against it.

"Garfield, will you stop sulking and start behaving like an _adult?_ We have work to do!"

 _Please, feel free to do whatever you want. Don't let me inconvenience you._

"Garfield…" she clenched her fists, imagining them closing over his throat.

 _Maybe if you did something about that bitchy attitude of yours you wouldn't get such a reaction from others, you know?_

" _Bitchy? ME?_ Why, you little –" she caught herself in time before she started hurling the choicest insults she knew at him. Her mouth clamped shut and her nails bit deeply into her palms. Slowly the anger cooled down and ebbed. She rubbed her eyes, as if she was suddenly tired.

"I… Maybe you're right, Gar. Maybe I overdid it in the restaurant. I'm sorry."

He hesitated for a few moments. _It's okay. Will you forgive me for my own behavior?_

She nodded. "Of course. I shouldn't have… I suppose I overreacted." She frowned. The shame she felt was gone, but the memory of him staring at another girl's... _at another girl,_ it somehow still ached. She tried to bury it with only partial success.

"We should call Steve and Rita," she pushed it all away to deal with the matter at hand. "What should we tell them?"

 _Uh, how about the truth?_

Her temper flared up again, the anger tearing apart the flimsy bonds she had wrapped around it. "You are an _idiot,_ Garfield Mark Logan!" she shouted. "Are you suggesting I should tell them that I've kidnapped your mind while I was healing you? Steve would have me in a straitjacket and on my way to the loony bin before I finished speaking!"

 _Well, then, if you already have it all figured out you don't really need my help, do you?_ he shot back and clammed up. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples.

"Look, I'm sure you know Steve much better than I do, but from what I could see he's not a patient or understanding person. He would probably consider it a prank, and a pretty tasteless one at that."

He didn't reply right away. With quite a bit of surprise she sensed he was becoming… amused. _If anything, it should convince him it's really me._

Rachel's eyes widened. "I don't think I really want to know," she grumbled and reached for the phone. "Please don't start sulking again. I'll probably need your help."

 _I won't, if you agree to keep that temper of yours reined in,_ he chuckled.

"Humph!" she snorted, but almost immediately a small smile graced her features. "You're right, Gar. I'll behave." She steeled herself for what she feared was coming and dialed Dayton's number.

The first twenty minutes of the call were as anticlimactic as they were infuriating. Rachel was forced to run a seemingly endless gauntlet of ever more brusque and demanding secretaries, a supremely efficient and increasingly impenetrable wall that protected Dayton from wasting his valuable time with common mortals. She gritted her teeth to keep herself from screaming as she identified herself yet again and repeated the personal nature of the call to yet another hyper-competent Cerberus. Garfield's name and state appeared to cause less and less of an impression with each secretarial iteration Rachel was dragged through. The edges of her temper weren't fraying; they were already torn to ribbons and smoldering dangerously. The only thing that kept her from blowing up and consigning both Dayton and his army of secretaries to the deepest pits of Hell was Garfield's calm, optimistic presence. Incredibly enough, this insufferable, _impossible_ boy was having a soothing and tranquilizing effect on her. She sensed his support and leaned heavily on it, feeling the frustration fade and vanish like a noxious mist under the sun's rays.

"Dayton," she heard finally. She shook her head in disbelief. If anyone told her she'd be glad to hear Dayton's voice, she'd laugh her brains out.

"Mr. Dayton, it's Rachel Roth," she said unnecessarily. "I need to talk to you about your son."

"Miss Roth," Dayton greeted her coldly. "I was thinking of calling you. Garfield hasn't woken from his coma yet."

Dayton's chilly, clipped tone borderline suggested this was somehow her fault. Well, she supposed technically it _was,_ but Dayton didn't know that. He was making assumptions, and they were definitely unflattering.

Rachel's hand squeezed the phone both in anger and in apprehension. "I… I think I know why. I would ask your permission to see him. I may be able to… pull him out of it."

"I never sign a contract without reading the fine print, Miss Roth!" Dayton's chilly tone began heating up. "You won't get anywhere near my son unless you tell me what's going on, _right now!_ "

Rachel sighed. Gar was right, she had to come out clean.

"While I was healing Garfield, his… consciousness was transferred over to my head," she admitted, her eyes firmly closed as she concentrated on breathing calmly.

There was a slight pause on Dayton's side. "What are you implying?" his voice was dangerously neutral. Oh, Dayton understood her perfectly, he was just too good a negotiator to let her off the hook as easy as that.

"I'm not _implying_ anything. I'm _telling you_ that his mind has entered my body, and that he's currently listening to our conversation!"

"Do you expect me to believe such nonsense?" Dayton snorted. "No, Miss Roth. I'll tell you what _really_ happened. You screwed up! You screwed up and you left my boy _brain dead!_ " his voice rose as he worked himself up. "I'm going to sue you for malpractice, Rachel. I'm going to sue the shirt off your back, and there'll be no hole small enough for you to crawl into, because I'll find you wherever you are!"

Rachel suddenly had enough. Even Gar's calming influence couldn't cope with the sheer rage that burst in her at Dayton's absurd accusations.

" _Mis_ ter Dayton!" she snarled into the phone. "If you'd care to recall, the reason your son is still breathing is because of _my_ intervention, performed _against_ your wishes!"

"I'm not placing my son's life in the hands of a quack!" he shouted back at her. "You left him in a coma, and now you're asking me to _trust you?_ "

Rachel's pale features lost what little color they had. "How _dare_ you call me that after I saved his life, you _ungrateful, selfish –_ "

 _Cool down, Rachel!_ Garfield tried to soothe her. _You'll just make it worse!_

"Well it's about time someone put him in his place!" she snapped at him, then turned her fury back to Dayton. "Because that's not it, is it, Mr. Dayton? This is not about your son any more! It's about you having to establish your Alpha status, and to the Nine Hells with the consequences!"

"I think we've finished this conversation!" a livid Dayton replied icily. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers, Miss Roth!"

Rachel abruptly felt – well, the only way she could describe it is being _elbowed aside_.

"Steve, listen to me!" Garfield spoke urgently in her voice. "I can prove it!"

There was a pause on the other side of the line. Garfield's gut clenched, expecting to hear the sound of a phone hanging up any moment.

"This prank of yours wasn't funny to begin with, Miss Roth, and now it's becoming abusive!" the words dripped with freezing menace. "But please, do go on digging yourself in deeper!"

"Mark and Marie Logan," Gar spoke quickly through a tightening throat. " The Ruwindi rapids. On the fourteenth… fourteenth of…" his voice faded, choked into a soundless sigh.

The pause on the other end was a lot longer this time. "What have you _done?_ " Dayton almost whispered in disbelief. "You have been reading his mind? How _could_ you?"

Rachel wrenched control away from Gar, who was too distraught to fight her. "Why is it that every other explanation is agreeable with you except the one I'm giving?" she commented caustically. "Never mind that. Tell me, Mr. Dayton. Are you a man that pays his debts?"

"Of course I am!" Dayton barked, hiding his confusion. Then the meaning of Rachel's words hit him. "You don't want to do this, Miss Roth."

"Watch me," she replied disdainfully. "I'm collecting the favor you promised. I want to be allowed to see Garfield for half an hour."

She could almost hear the grinding of Dayton's teeth. "Tomorrow morning," he growled and hung up.

"Thank you," Rachel said softly over the already dead line and laid the phone down with exaggerated care on the coffee table.

Then the reaction hit her, and the realization that she'd just made an enemy of one of the most powerful men in the world. She started shaking and tried to curl up in fetal position on the couch. A soft whine escaped her lips and her eyes filled with tears.

 _Shhhh, Rach, it's okay!_ she felt his presence settle around her, rocking and swaying and holding her until the trembling passed. She huddled and nestled into him, seeking the peace and safety, craving the reassurance and comfort of their entwined souls. Gently and imperceptibly they both drowned in the warm waves of their mutual affection without even becoming aware of the deep intimacy they shared, conscious only of the feeling of joy and satisfaction they brought to each other.

"How do you do it, Gar?" Rachel mumbled as she rubbed her face in the soft fabric of the couch, unconsciously seeking the physical touch of his skin on hers.

 _Hmm?_ he hummed, his mind a little dizzy, drunk on the potent cocktail of their shared but unrecognized feelings.

"How do you manage to bring me peace and calm and at the same time drive me absolutely stark raving crazy?"

 _I'm a multi-facetious guy!_ he grinned. She rolled her eyes at his expression mangling. "You're also an idiot," she grumbled affectionately. After allowing herself a few more moments of joy, she stretched and got up.

"Time to go to the library for some research!"

-=oOo=-

The three men reviewed the documents in front of them, occasionally consulting each other or pointing to one another an important piece of information, conversing in low, serious voices and seeking consensus. It would come eventually; as independent and ruthless as they were, they held to the logical inevitability that together they were stronger. The time for backstabbing would come when their plans came to fruition and their current allies became obstacles to their unbounded ambition, but for the moment they relaxed in the deadly company, aware of the safety their current situation brought.

The door opened and a tall, slim woman entered with a recorder in her hands and a malicious leer on her face. At the questioning looks of the three men she placed the recorder on the table between them.

"Ve have intercepted a very interesting conversation," she spoke in a heavily accented English. "I'm certain you vill find its contents… fascinating."


End file.
